Gloxinia
by WildChipmunkofYonder
Summary: Tom Riddle: famous magician. Harry Potter: normal boy who just happens to go see a magic show. Both are in for the surprise of their lives! AU Slash Tom RiddlexHarry Potter.
1. Meet the magician

Okay, this is a fic I am writing in response to one of DarkCrimsonFlame3's challenges. The summary is as follows:

**Harry Potter/Magician: Tom Riddle is the famous magician, and Harry Potter is just your average Joe. But when Harry comes to his magic show and gets called up. Tom sees love at first sight! Harry's world turns up-sie-down with Tom trying to make him love him as he plays tricks to get Harry's attention. But Harry doesn't want love because of someone who broke his heart already before. **

Well, the challenge just sounded too great to pass up, and before I knew it I had started writing this chapter! There are other challenges on DarkCrimsonFlame3's profile, as well as some great stories that you can sign-up to write chapters for. I've already written a chapter for a fic called The Riddle, which is a Harry Potter/The Mummy crossover. Go check them out if you get the chance!

Before reading, there are some things you need to know. This is an alternative universe story. The only one with magic is Tom, and it is not the magic that J. K. Rowling came up with. This is more of the stereotypical magic we think of one we think of magicians and such, so that means Tom will not be casting any _lumos_ spells at any time.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

**Warning:** If it is not already apparent, this is a **slash** story, as in two males in a romantic relationship. The phrase "Don't like. Don't read" applies. It is also a Tom Riddle/Harry Potter pairing. Again. Don't like. Don't read.

Now on to the fic!

* * *

"Thirty minutes 'til show time Mr. Riddle," one of the assistants said timidly, poking her head through the open dressing room door. 

"Thank you," the man said, a little smirk on his face. "Fetch me a glass of Cabernet would you?"

The girl frowned, but a little blush stained her cheeks at having been addressed by the handsome man. "I'm sorry Mr. Riddle, but the manager said-"

"_Did I ask what the manager said?_" he practically hissed at the rapidly paling girl. "No, I asked for a glass of wine. Do I need to make myself clearer?" he spat, red eyes sparking with displeasure.

"N-n-no sir! One glass of Cabernet coming up sir!" she said before quickly leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

Tom Riddle laughed after the door had shut. It served the foolish girl right to be afraid, trying to tell him that he was not allowed something. He walked over to the mirror, checking his reflection. He studied his face thoroughly, making sure the person who did his make-up had not made any mistakes. His very pale skin made the stage make-up hard to apply at times, but it had to be perfect. Frowning as he noticed that they had made his cheeks a bit too rosy, he waved his hand lightly and watched as the hue toned down to the perfect shade. If it wouldn't look so suspicious Tom would do his own make-up before shows, as he always ended up having to fix it anyway. He made a mental note to fire the person, then dropped the thought for the moment so he could check his hair. Satisfied with how he looked, he snapped his fingers. His outfit for that night's show, a tuxedo with a red cape that matched his eyes, appeared instantly on his body.

_Perfect_, he thought with satisfaction, walking back to his seat on the black leather couch. His dressing room was large, leaving plenty enough room for a couch, coffee table, chair and television while still being able to hold the large walk-in closet that held his clothes and the long vanity infront of the extremely long mirror. He flicked his fingers to turn off the bright mirror lights, then settled comfortably, waiting for the insolent girl to return with his drink. He knew he could have just gotten the drink himself: one thought and the wine bottle would appear before him. However, his rather pompous side enjoyed having others fetch things for him, and he so loved the look of fear on their faces when they dared to try and defy him.

A knock sounded on his door, and, after bidding the person to enter, a boy appeared, carrying a wine bottle.

"Excuse me sir, but Amanda told me that you requested some wine?" the boy said politely.

"Indeed I did. Can you tell me why the young lady was unable to deliver it herself?" Tom asked in an annoyed tone.

"Well, she mentioned something about 'no Cabernet', whatever Cabernet is, and 'he's going to kill me'. When I tried to talk to her she just told me to take this bottle to you, then marched right out the door. I think the poor girl was having a breakdown," the boy said naively, concern in his voice.

Tom contained the chuckle that wanted to escape, red eyes dancing with malicious pleasure. "I have no idea. She seemed fine when I made my request. I suppose she just wasn't meant for show business," he gestured to the bottle in the boy's hand. "My wine if you please."

"Oh! Sorry! Here you go," he set the bottle on the table. "Is there anything else you need?"

"No, that will be all," he gave a dismissive wave of his hand, obviously telling the boy to leave.

"Idiot," he said after the boy had left. "Not even bothering to get me a glass." He added the boy to his growing list of people to soon be fired, before waving his hand, a glass already filled with a deep burgundy wine appearing. He sipped at it gingerly, relishing the sweet taste on his tongue. He would enjoy something stronger, but he knew that it was not best to drink strong alcohol before a big show. Leaning back against his seat, he waved his hand, the television turning on to the beginning credits of a romance movie. Not interested, he flipped through the channels. He was about to give up hope of finding anything suitable, when he saw the credits of a talk show, one that he had appeared on not too long ago. Wondering if it was the same episode, he watched with vague interest.

"Our next guest is someone who has made a real smash in recent times," the obnoxious host said, claw like fingernails, painted crimson, clacking eagerly on her armrest. "His world tour show _Voldemort_ has been rated number one on the _Daily Prophet_ list of best shows, and is close to breaking the record for most sold out performances. He is a man of mystery, magic, and, if I might say, good looks," she gave a flirty wink to the camera, the audience laughing in the background, "please welcome the one and only Tom Riddle!"

The audience, nearly all female, screamed loudly as Tom came out. He saw himself smirk confidently at the hysterical crowd, causing more than one woman to swoon, before he headed towards the chair next to the hostess. Though unnoticeable to most, he saw his eye twitch just the tiniest bit as he shook hands with the hostess, whose magenta colored clothes were nearly blinding to look at. He shivered in disgust as he noticed the eyes behind the jeweled spectacles sweep his form, before she gestured for him to sit.

"Well, it seems you're even better looking in real life," she said only half jokingly, eyeing the bit of skin that was revealed where his dress shirt was unbuttoned appreciatively. The audience screamed again in response and Tom saw himself chuckle. He acting skills must have been improving; the only reason he knew it was fake was the way his hand clenched from annoyance.

"So it would seem," his television self replied. The audience screamed even louder than before, and he saw the vile woman twist a finger in her ridiculously curled blonde hair, as if by making it even more curly would attract Tom's attention. If he remembered correctly, the thought that went through his mind at the time was similar to _Disgusting insect_, but he couldn't be sure.

"Well Tom—you don't mind if I call you Tom, do you?" she said in a sickeningly sweet voice while resting her hand atop his own. He knew without out a doubt that his thought at the time was _Yes I do mind and you had better let go of me you cow_, but no such thoughts appeared on his face, only a sharpening of a glance and a subtle twitch of his hand to get her to release it.

"No, not at all," he said, though he glared slightly at her when she didn't get the hint to not touch him. Completely out of no where, the woman suddenly snapped her hand back with a yelp. He knew her hand had to be hurting; one normally is in pain when they get burned. She stared at him incredulously, not having a clue what happened. Tom thought she was lucky he didn't do worse to her.

She coughed slightly to cover her shock then continued with the conversation, very aware that the cameras were still on and millions of viewers were probably watching. "Lovely," she said, though she made no move to touch him again. "I suppose the question on everyone's mind is this: how do you do it? How do you perform such amazing tricks? And more importantly," she said while leaning in slightly, eagerly, "is it _really_ magic?"

"Now now," his television self said with another fake chuckle, "you know a true magician never reveals his secrets. Where would all the wonder be if I did that?"

"Oh come now Tom," she said in an admonishing tone, "I'm sure you can tell us one little bitty secret."

"Hmmm, let me think about it," he said with a pensive look on his face. He turned to her and gestured for her to lean in. She was obviously weary of touching him, but couldn't resist the thought of learning one of his secrets, so she leaned in as close as she dared. The crowd too was leaning forward in their seats, hopeful and awed expressions on their faces. Even the cameramen were holding their breaths. His television self took an exaggerated breath before closing his eyes and saying in a stage whisper "Nope."

Everyone let out the breaths they had been holding and a resounding "Aw!" of disappointment could be heard throughout the room. The hostess looked like she was close to smacking him for joking with her like that, but gave a too wide to be real smile towards him instead. "That wasn't very nice Tom! Getting our hopes up like that!"

"I'm terribly sorry," he said without an ounce of remorse. "Can I make it up to you by…" he paused while swirling is hand in the air. Out of no where, a purple geranium appeared and he continued, "…performing a little magic?"

His answer was obvious as the crowd started to scream again, many jumping to their feet in their excitement. He mockingly held out the flower for the woman to take, which she did with an overly exaggerated flattered face. He stood up, walking to a cleared area that had been set up for him to perform close to where he had been sitting, then turned back to the audience.

"Before I start," television Tom said, "I would like to recite a bit of Shakespeare for your enjoyment." He cleared his throat, watching in amusement the audience's confusion. "To be," he started dramatically, "or not to be…"

A sudden buzzing could be heard and the hostess screamed as a bee came flying out of the flower she held. She scrambled back, yet it was pointless as the bee completely ignored her. It flew over towards Tom and landed in his outstretched hand.

"Or bumblebee I should say," he said with a chuckle. The audience laughed as well and started applauding. He bowed his head a bit, then turned towards the startled hostess. "Don't worry, there are no more surprises you should have to worry about from that flower."

She nodded with false good humor, picking up the flower from where it had fallen on the floor. She had just seated herself when it burst into flame, startling yet another scream from her. It went out instantly, and all she held was a pile of ashes.

"Whoops," Tom said innocently, "my mistake."

The hostess grit her teeth and visibly forced herself to smile, tipping the ashes onto the table. "Well I do hope there won't be anymore mistakes anytime soon," she said with a forced laugh.

"No, that was all," he said, though his eyes danced with mischief. Focusing back on the no longer buzzing bee, television Tom brought up his other hand and with no hesitation _smacked_ the hand on which the bee was perched. The audience let a cry of shock, some even saying things such as "Ew!" and "Gross!"but they instantly went quiet when Tom pulled his hands apart.

Instead of squished bug guts as one might expect, a white handkerchief was pulled across from the two hands. He saw himself snatch the handkerchief before throwing it into the air. As it floated towards the ground, it somehow grew bigger, until it was five times as big as it was originally. It landed as a perfect square on the ground, not one part overlapping the other. Television Tom stepped up to it and reached down, grasping a corner of it before snapping it up. The audience gasped, as instead of the normal carpet, there was a large circle shaped piece of wood lying underneath the cloth. They started clapping enthusiastically.

His television self wasn't finished yet. He picked up the circle, not straining despite the fact that it was thick and appeared to be very heavy. He grasped it by a handle that had been on the other side, and held it high above his head, one-handed.

"All right," he addressed the audience, "I'm going to spin this around above my head, and when I say 'Go' I want all of you to count down from ten. Understood?" The crowd nodded enthusiastically, cheering. Satisfied, Tom began to spin the disc, gaining momentum as he continued. When he seemed to reach the correct speed, which was very very fast, he turned his head to the audience and shouted, "Go!"

Immediately the crowd began counting down, watching expectantly as Tom continued to spin the disc. It only seemed to get faster; a mahogany colored blur above his head. They got louder as they went down, finally shouting out a loud "One!" As soon as they finished, Tom stopped spinning, gripping the object firmly to cease movement. The crowd gaped.

The mahogany disc had become a cane, made of the same shiny wood that the disc had been made out of. Before they had time to react, Tom brought the cane between his two palms, and it disappeared as he snapped his hands together in a clap. He quickly opened his hands, and the entire audience cheered and laughed as they were covered in a spray of confetti and glitter that shot from his hands.

Television Tom bowed before the cheering crowd, turning back to sit next to the hostess who, despite her earlier reaction to the bee and igniting flower, was clapping just as enthusiastically as the audience.

"Marvelous!" she exclaimed. "Simply marvelous!"

"Thank you," was the reply, a very smug smile painting the man's lips. The audience eventually calmed, and the hostess turned to the camera.

"Tom Riddle will be performing at the Hogwarts Theatre next month. Please visit his website or call the following number to get ticket information and show dates and times," she paused, allowing said information to be shown to the audience and viewers before continuing. "Before we go, how about we show the commercial for this _amazing_ show?" The audience screamed, and the hostess gestured to a television sitting by her.

Real life Tom watched as the screen faded to a dark grey, close to black in color. Suddenly, a classic top hat _poofed_ onto the screen. However, instead of a rabbit hopping out as one might think, a large python slithered out of the hat with a prolonged _hiss_. The snake grew larger and larger as it slithered its way across the screen, until it lunged forward suddenly, dangerous fangs exposed. It froze mid-lunge, before the head ignited, burning the long body to the tip of its tail before collapsing into dust. Ominous music began to play as the dust was blown away, and marching could be heard, steadily growing louder. A mass of hooded, shadowy figures emerged, heads bowed down so as to not reveal their faces. Only when the music stopped did they raise their heads, revealing skulls with eerie glowing eyes. The chimes of a cemetery bell rang out as behind the group of bones rose another hooded figure, though this one had no legs to be seen. You could see nothing within its hood except pitch black nothingness. It came ever closer, reaching out one decaying hand to pull down its hood…

When everything was sucked back into the top hat, held in the hands of none other than a blindfolded Tom Riddle. He gave a smirk, before somehow folding the hat as if it was a piece of paper, until it was merely a few inches wide, completely flat. He tucked the miniature hat away in his shirt pocket, before turning and walking away, a dark mist trailing behind him.

The talk show came back into focus, the audience once again cheering. Real Tom saw that his television self was, unfortunately, still sitting next to the vile woman known as the hostess, who was turning towards him.

"I must say, your show seems rather…dark, going by the commercial at least, yet your performance here was anything but!" the woman remarked.

"Yes, the show isn't all that gruesome in my opinion. The atmosphere, though, is rather intense, and the audience is never really sure what will happen. There may be a spook or surprise here or there, but it's mostly a thrill," Tom said thoughtfully, or at least that's how it appeared.

"I noticed you were blindfolded in the commercial. Is that something significant in your show?"

Tom smirked. "Terribly sorry, but I can't just go giving away what happens in my shows. If you want to find out, you'll just have to go see it for yourself."

The woman pursed her lips as though to argue, but after a quick glance to the side, she straightened and turned on one of her best smiles despite the frustration that was poorly hidden. Tom knew she had just seen one of the producers signaling to her that time was running out.

"Well thank you so much for being here today Tom," she said falsely. The audience cheered and groaned at the same time, ecstatic that Tom had been there in the first place, but disappointed in his upcoming departure. Tom saw himself shake hands with the woman, who was very nervous with the contact, before standing up and walking off set. The hostess turned back to the camera.

"We've had a great time on today's show and I'd like to thank all are guests once again for coming! I'm Rita Skeeter, join us next time on-"

With a flick, the television screen turned black as Tom got up and stretched. Glancing at the clock, he noticed he had about ten minutes left until show time. With a sigh and one more quick glance in the mirror, Tom made his way to the door, pulling on a pair of white gloves as he did so. He ignored the startled boy who had been about to knock, and made his way through the hallways, receiving appreciative and shy glances from the surrounding workers. A few came up him to inform him that everything was set up and ready, and he dismissed them either with a curt nod or wave of his hand.

Now close to the stage, he could hear the slightly muffled roar of the audience settling into their seats. Waiting by the place where he would enter the stage, he held out his hand, and was unsurprised as a bottle of water was handed to him by one of his many assistants. Most assistants he had were for smaller tasks that were too menial for him to do himself, and they normally never lasted long under his harsh attitude. Glancing to the side, he noted it was one of his newer assistants. She was somewhat scrawny and had light brown hair that was pulled back into a messy bun, with pale blue eyes. Her clothes were plain but adequate, and unlike many female assistants he had had in the past she never wore high heels, only tennis shoes. Her choice in footwear alone had helped her survive the three weeks she had been his assistant, as fetching items and traveling to and fro were two of the main tasks his assistants performed. Many women had left his presence limping from their abused feet after having to climb flights of stairs throughout a day in a pair of six inch heels. Of course the elevator was always "coincidently" broken.

He couldn't remember the girl's name, but he had started to mentally call her "Notepad Girl", as she always kept a notepad in her back pocket. She frequently pulled it out to scribble any orders down, and was often seen making notes of little details involving everything, such as the fact he always ordered a bottle of water before he made his entrance onstage. She was quiet and performed the tasks given to her swiftly and accurately, and most importantly of all, without protest. Also, she was confident enough to make suggestions when the situation called for it, yet always knew her place. If she continued to do well, he would see about promoting her to his secretary or personal assistant.

He occupied himself by sipping his water, watching as the girl waited patiently for further orders. "Time?" he asked eventually.

"Five minutes and twenty-two seconds left sir," she responded promptly after a quick glance at her watch.

"Excellent," Tom said. "Have the idiots up in the sound department fixed the faulty speaker?"

As expected, the girl snatched her notepad quickly from her pocket, flipping through it as she began talking. "It took the greater part of the day, but they managed to complete repairs in time. It turned out that Dale was wrong in his assumption that rewiring the system would fix the problem. It was only after they had begun working that Jones located the fried circuits. The whole speaker itself had to be replaced, but luckily Smith had saved one of the spares from the last show in New York, despite Dale's wish to leave it behind."

Tom hummed thoughtfully. "Inform Dale to come see me later. I believe a demotion is in order. This is his third blunder and I'm tired of mistakes."

"Yes sir," she said while writing the bit of information down. "Shall I file an ad to find a replacement sir? Or do you already have someone in mind to take his place as Head of the Sound Department?"

"As I'm sure he has not been doing his duties, who has he been shirking them on to?"

"Jones has been covering sir. She was the one to convert the machinery to fit the theatre's old system last week, despite the fact that the producers told Dale to, as they believed it was too important of a job to leave to anyone else 'less experienced'. Production has increased by fifteen percent in the areas that Jones has been covering for, and generally everything seems to be more organized in the department itself."

"Perfect. I want Jones promoted to head of the department immediately."

"Yes sir, I will inform her and the producers right away," she said, scribbling the last of her notes. "Anything else sir?"

"No, that will be all," he said, holding out the half-filled water bottle for her to take as he was signaled to get ready to go on stage.

She took it, and, after a brief respectful nod of her head, quickly left to fulfill her tasks. He watched her go before tuning out his surroundings, focusing on his magic and the tricks he would be soon performing. He went over every last detail twice, as always, before he walked up behind the small curtain he would enter. He could hear the audience slowly becoming more quiet as the lights dimmed, until a complete silence overcame the crowd. With a signal from a man with a headset, Tom put on his best smirk and confidently walked on stage.

* * *

I am not sure how many chapters this fic is going to be. Once it gets farther along I'll have a better idea. The rating may or may not increase. 

For those wondering, I'm not sure how big a role "Notepad Girl" will play within the story. I have a feeling she will be popping up quite a bit, but I don't think she will be a major asset. She doesn't have a name at the moment, so I am open to suggestions, just nothing too fancy sounding please.

Please review! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

_Chippy_


	2. Do I have to?

Well, here's the next chapter! I'm so flattered by all the positive feedback I have received! Thank you so much!

Regarding Notepad girl, while she does seem a bit like Hermione now, as her character develops you'll notice the differences between the two. So keep sending in names! I've recieved some good ones so far, but I won't decide until the next chapter.

Overall this chapter isn't very exciting. It's really mostly for giving a little bit of background knowledge on Harry's life. It doesn't totally cover it though, but you'll learn more as the chapters progress. Sorry, no Tom in this chapter, but he is mentioned a couple of times

Now on with the fic!

* * *

"For the last time, I am not going!" Harry said, exasperated.

"But Harry you have to! These tickets cost a fortune!"

"Why do you want to go anyway Hermione? You've said it yourself that you don't believe in magic, so why go see a magic show?"

Hermione blushed. "Well…"

"Oh, I see how it is," Harry teased. "Honestly Hermione, I thought you were above crushes on celebrities. I mean, ever since the whole Lockhart thing-"

"I never had a crush on Lockhart!" Hermione exclaimed, blushing more.

"From what I recall, you could never stop talking about him and his 'accomplishments'. You were practically in tears when the whole scandal was revealed a few years ago."

"How was I supposed to know he lied about all the things he did! He had written so many books!" Hermione argued.

"Well, me and Ron could tell pretty easily that he was a phony and an idiot when you dragged us to his book signing _twice_," Harry muttered into his coffee cup before taking a sip, then grimacing. It needed more sugar.

"That's 'Ron and I' Harry," Hermione corrected, pushing the sugar bowl in his direction.

"Thanks," he said before adding two spoonfuls. "Anyway, Ron and _I_ were right, and we sure weren't surprised when he was checked into a mental hospital."

"It wasn't his fault that he tripped and hit his head! All those reporters were chasing him!"

"They were chasing him because he was trying to leave the country after the scandal was discovered. Sometimes I think he just claims he has amnesia so he won't go to prison for all the stuff he did."

"That's a horrible thing to say!" Hermione chastised.

Harry sighed. "I know. Sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Ron asked as he sat down at the table, stifling a yawn.

"It's about time you woke up Ron! Do you have any idea what time it is!" Hermione said.

"'s too early, that's all I know," Ron said, eyelids drooping.

"For you information we have to leave in ten minutes!" Hermione snapped.

"What! But I haven't had any breakfast yet!" Ron said, horrified.

"If you had gotten up earlier you wouldn't have to worry Ronald," a red-haired woman said from the kitchen, a disapproving frown on her face.

"Thanks again for the breakfast Mrs. Weasely," Harry said.

Mrs. Weasely's frown was instantly replaced with a smile. "Think nothing of it dear. You and Hermione are always welcome anytime. Besides, someone needs to make sure you eat properly!"

Harry sighed at the often heard comment. Mrs. Weasely had always chastised him for his weight, though much more when he was younger. He had been very scrawny for his age, and, even though his body had filled out quite a bit, he was still served second helpings whenever he ate at the Weasely household.

"Yes Mrs. Weasely," Harry said obediently. There was no use arguing with her.

The woman smiled again, placing a plate of pancakes in front of Ron. He instantly started eating, wolfing down enormous syrupy bites. "Would you like anything else Harry? Hermione?" the red-haired woman asked.

"No thank you Mrs. Weasely," they said, both very full from the massive amount of food the woman had cooked for them earlier.

Mrs. Weasely eyed Harry's slim frame for a moment before saying "I think I'll pack you a few muffins, just in case you get hungry along the way." She bustled off to get said muffins before either Harry or Hermione could protest.

Ten minutes later, they were rushing out the door, Ron snatching a few more muffins along the way. After bidding Mrs. Weasely a hasty goodbye, the three hopped into Hermione's car (it was her turn to drive) and they were on their way.

"Why are we leaving so early anyway?" Ron grumbled from the passenger seat.

"Because Harry forgot to grab his Biology book before we left for you parent's house yesterday," Hermione said, giving Harry a stern look through the rearview mirror. Harry rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"Oh, well that's okay then. I just remembered… I forgot mine too," Ron said.

"Honestly, you two are way too forgetful," Hermione said. "One of these days you're going to forget something really important and then you'll be in big trouble. You're just lucky that your apartment is only about a ten minute drive from school."

Ron just nodded his head absentmindedly, having heard the same speech a million times. Hermione huffed, then focused back on the road. A little while later, they reached the apartment, a four story building painted a light grey color. Hermione waited in the car while the two boys dashed out, Harry fumbling for the correct key to get into the building. Once inside, the two boys jogged to the elevator. The door eventually slid open and they stepped in, Ron hastily hitting the button for the third floor. They made it to their floor, and Harry walked over to the door with a brass number 304 on it, quickly unlocking the door then stepping inside.

The apartment was small. The walls were painted the standard white of most apartment buildings, and the view wasn't the best, despite being on one of the highest floors. The bedrooms were small, as were the bathroom and the kitchen. The plumbing had been very bad for a few months—the water would sporadically turn boiling hot to icy cold—but after much complaining to the apartment manager she had finally gotten the plumbers to somewhat fix it. Though the water pressure wasn't extremely strong and though there was no hot water after eight o'clock at night, it was much better. The furniture, though mostly secondhand, was all in good condition, and there was a computer sitting in a corner of the living room.

Harry went to his room to find his Biology book, and he could faintly hear Ron doing the same in the room next door. He frowned as he noticed the mess he had left yesterday as he had hastily changed to leave for the Weasely household (or the "Burrow" as it was affectionately called). Ron's eldest brother Bill had been visiting from Egypt, where he worked as an archaeologist, and there had been a huge family gathering for his short visit. Harry and Hermione had come as they were considered family, despite not having the flaming red hair and freckles that the Weaselys were known for. They had meant to leave that night, but it had gotten so late that Mrs. Weasely had insisted that they spend the night. This happened quite a few times when they went to the Burrow, so they had spare clothes to change into the next day.

Harry smiled at the thought of the visit. It had been great to see the many members of the Weasely clan again after such a long time. He hardly ever saw the two eldest Weasely children, Bill and Charlie, as they both lived and worked outside the country. Charlie, a particularly freckled fellow, worked on an animal reserve in Romania, but he had been staying at the Burrow for the past month or so to recuperate after an accident. When asked what happened, he had merely replied that he had "encountered a reptile with a nasty temper". He was due to start work again in a few weeks, despite his mother's fretting and insistence that he find a safer job somewhere closer to home.

The third eldest son, Percy, had not been there, but that had been no surprise to a great majority of the family. After graduating college and securing himself a decent position in a large company—the same company his father, Arthur, worked for—Percy had swiftly separated himself from his family. He never spared his father a glance at the office, only interacting with the man when it was required, which was not very often as they worked in completely different branches of the company. It had hurt his mother dearly, as she had been particularly proud of her hardworking son, and she had been heartbroken at the many unreturned phone calls and letters.

The next in line were Fred and George, identical twins who were known for their pranks and schemes. Both boys had dropped out of college during their second year, stating that it was too confining of an atmosphere for them. It had been especially bad for them as one of their teachers, a toad-like woman named Dolores Umbridge, had been one of the most vile teachers on the face of the planet. She was racist, homophobic, and any other type of prejudice you could possibly imagine. The twins played all manner of tricks on her in retaliation, mostly innocent pranks of course, as they had no desire to go to prison. However, after physically harming their best friend, a black boy named Lee Jordan, the twins had had enough. They secretly recorded her abusing various students and anonymously sent the evidence to the school board. She had been interviewed within a day of the information reaching the school board, and had been arrested two days later. It turned out that she had been threatening and blackmailing students to keep them quiet about her actions for the entire year that she had been teaching, and that she had harmed a fair number of students during her career.

The day of Umbridge's arrest, the twins had, secretly, set off a slime bomb within her classroom, coating her, the current students, and all her belongings in green, swamp-like mucus. Nearly insane with rage, Umbridge had instantly known who the culprits were, and had dived for the twins (who were in class at the time) in a blind rage to strangle them. At that precise moment, the Head of the School Board had opened the door to witness Unbridge's attack on Fred and George, and had alerted security. Umbridge had been dragged away and the twins were brought in for questioning. They got off scot-free, as the prank could not be traced back to them, and Umbridge was admitted into a mental hospital after she had started ranting and raving insanely, yelling about how the centaurs would get them all. No one knew why she yelled this, but doctors blamed it on a horse riding accident she must have had in her youth.

After this fiasco, the twins soon dropped out, stating that their dream was to open a joke shop. Their mother had been furious, telling them about how they were wasting their lives and ruining themselves by not getting any higher education. However, the twins had ignored her pleas, and had revealed their well thought-out plans to open the dream shop, including products the twins had invented themselves. All it needed was the money to get it started.

This issue had been solved quite unbelievably. After being cheated out of a good deal of their savings, the twins had just about given up hope of ever opening their shop. Unsure how to make them feel better, Harry had suggested that they buy a lotto ticket, that they might win the money that way. The two boys' spirits had been lifted briefly, only to fall again as they realized that they had no money to buy one. Unwilling to give up, Harry had given them five dollars (that was all the money he had had on him at the time) and dragged them to the nearest convenience store. When picking numbers, Fred and George had argued over the last one, when Harry—exasperated at how long it was taking them—finally shouted "Just pick a seven! It's supposed to be a lucky number!" Shrugging, the twins agreed and paid for their ticket.

One week later, a very groggy Harry was awakened at five in the morning by a very excited Fred and George calling him. He could only make out them yelling "We won! We won!" as the background noise was too loud. Later when Harry was more awake, he was informed that the twins had won the jackpot prize, and that it had been Harry's number that had won them the money. Fred and George opened their shop within the year, and had dubbed it Weasleys' Wheezes. The twins, of course, sent Harry tons of free merchandise for his contribution, as he would not accept any money from them except for the five dollars that they had first borrowed.

The second youngest out of the Weasely children was his best friend Ron, who he had met in Middle School when he was eleven. Harry could still clearly imagine in his mind's eye the fateful day when he had met Ron. He had been sitting alone on the school bus, when a shy boy wearing hand-me-down clothes with red hair and freckles asked him if the seat next to him was available. Smiling, the younger Harry had warmly invited the other boy to sit with him and by the time the school day was over Ron had been inviting him to come over after school. They had been best friends ever since.

Last but not least of the children was Ron's younger sister Ginny. Having grown up with all brothers, Ginny knew how to take care of herself, and her red hair only accented her feisty personality. When she was younger, Ginny had had a crush on Harry, and she would always act incredibly shy in his presence. As years passed, she grew out of her crush and her true personality was no longer hidden from Harry behind flushed cheeks and stammering sentences. They had grown much closer because of this, and Harry considered her to be his own little sister; Ginny, in return, considered him to be another older brother.

Harry was quickly snapped out of his musings when Ron yelled at him from the living room, wondering what was taking so long. Locating his missing book by his bed, Harry snatched it up before running out of his bedroom. Harry and Ron made it back down to Hermione a few minutes later where they were yelled at for taking such a long time, then the trio continued on their journey to school.

* * *

"…now remember, your essays are due next lesson. I sincerely hope for your sakes that they are better then the last ones I received. They are to be typed, double-spaced, in size twelve font. If you do not have a computer I suggest you either take a trip to the library or use a friend's. No handwritten essays will be accepted. Class dismissed." 

A great majority of the students let out a sigh of relief, and they quickly packed up their belongings. Harry was just heading for the door when the teacher said, "Just a moment Mr. Potter. I would like a quick word with you."

Wondering what he did wrong, Harry turned towards his English teacher where she was sitting at her desk. "Yes Professor McGonagall?"

The teacher's normally stern features softened just the tiniest bit. "No need to look like you are heading to the gallows Mr. Potter. I merely wished to inform you that I was quite pleased with your assignment last lesson. Your answers were both well thought-out and explained thoroughly. I hope that this new improvement will be consistent throughout the term."

Surprised and a more than a bit shocked, Harry could only nod before Professor McGonagall bid him a good afternoon, an obvious dismissal. He returned the farewell, and made his way into one of the many hallways of his school. He debated with himself before deciding to go outside, feeling the sudden need for some fresh air. After many twists and turns and staircases, he could finally sigh in relief at the cool breeze that swept across his face. Checking his watch, Harry noted that he had a good fifteen minutes before Hermione would be done with her current class; Ron's class would be done about ten minutes after hers. After walking for bit, he decided to seat himself on a grassy hill overlooking the campus grounds.

He pulled out his half-finished English essay, meaning to get a paragraph or so written before Hermione showed up. Normally he wasn't so diligent with his schoolwork, but he honestly did not feel like leaving it to the last minute, as he had done so in the past. Tapping his pencil eraser on his chin, he thought over what to write next. Toying with an idea, he scribbled out a few sentences. Soon, however, Harry found his concentration wavering. Allowing his eyes to wander, he found himself surveying his surroundings.

His eyes traced the school as they had a million times before. No matter how many times he traveled to school each day, he was still awed by the sight that greeted him. A castle fit for a king. The ancient bricks seemed to hold countless stories, while the high towers caressed the sky. Harry lovingly looked upon his school, Hogwarts University.

A lake was situated near Hogwarts, as was a forest that the students liked to call the Forbidden Forest. It had a real name, but nobody bothered to remember it, so the nickname stuck. The school almost seemed to be cut off from the rest of the world, as the grounds, lake and forest included, all belonged to the school. For years people had offered to buy the lands, but all offers were declined. The closest town, Hogsmeade, was about ten minutes away, which was where a great majority of the students who didn't live in the dorms lived. The town had prospered due to the people that came to see the school, and they had named a large theatre built there in honor of the great school. The Hogwarts Theatre was well-known for the great performances it featured there.

At the moment the grounds seemed to be in their prime. It was the middle of spring, and Mother Nature was working overtime as the flowers bloomed and the grass became a fresh shade of green. The sun was shining brightly, yet the cool breeze kept the temperature from becoming too hot. The Forbidden Forest—which was normally dark and intimidating, leading to its name—seemed to light up from within. The lake sparkled merrily, beckoning wayward students to come and relax by its soft shores, and Harry found himself very tempted to do just that.

He had just gotten up to move when a shout of his name had him turning around, where he saw Hermione heading towards him.

"Sorry I'm late, but I had to talk to Professor Vector about our exam next week," she said, slightly out of breath as if she had ran all the way from the Calculus classroom, which was located on the other side of the school.

Harry nodded, not very surprised that he had been in a trance-like state for nearly the entire time he had been waiting for her. "That's all right. How long until Ron's class is over?"

"Probably about five minutes, but knowing him he won't show up for ten or so," Hermione said crossly, sitting down.

Harry sat back down as well, sighing tiredly. "Well as we wait for his royal slowness to get here, what are your plans for the weekend?" he asked.

Hermione smiled innocently. "You, Ron, and I are going to go see that magic show this Sunday, remember?"

"Hermione…" Harry started warningly.

"Oh come on Harry, it'll be great!"

"Why don't you take Ginny instead? I'm sure she'd love to go see it," Harry grumbled.

"Because Ginny already has plans," Hermione stated. "Honestly Harry, I don't understand why you're so against seeing a magic show. I can't wait!"

"That's because you think that the magician guy is good-looking," Harry said.

Hermione looked thoughtful. "Okay, he **is** handsome, there's no denying it, but that's not the reason why I want to go see the show."

"Good," Harry said, smiling mischievously. "I'd hate to deal with a jealous Ron all day."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said, huffing. "Ron and I are just friends, so there's no need for him to be jealous."

Harry snorted. It was extremely obvious that his two friends were in love. Ron had always despised all other boys who showed interest in Hermione. It had been particularly bad when they were sixteen and Hermione had had a foreign exchange student named Viktor Krum staying at her house. Ron had been so jealous of Viktor that Harry had believed that he would suddenly turn green. Also, when Ron had been dating one of their classmates named Lavender Brown, Hermione was always making up excuses to leave so she didn't have to see Lavender hanging off his arm. Luckily, Victor had gone back to Bulgaria (though he and Hermione still wrote each other every so often) and Ron had broken up with Lavender after a particularly vocal argument, where Harry knew he had heard Hermione's name mentioned several times.

"Whatever you say Hermione," Harry said in a disbelieving tone.

"Anyway, as I was saying earlier, I don't want to go see the show because Tom Riddle is easy on the eyes; I want to go because it is supposed to be an amazing show. Viktor mentioned in one of his letters that it was the best shows he had ever seen in his life, and he's very hard to impress."

Harry sighed. "There's no way that I'm getting out of this am I?" he said tiredly.

Hermione smiled cheerfully.

Harry groaned.

"Fine! You win! I'll go see the stupid show!"

"I knew you'd agree eventually," she said cheerfully. "Look there's Ron! We'd better get going then." She stood up, looking down at Harry who was still sprawled grumpily on the ground. "If it makes you feel any better, we'll stop for ice cream on the way home."

Harry glared at her halfheartedly as he stood up. "You're buying."

"Deal," she said pulling him towards the impatiently waiting Ron. Harry allowed the motion with minimal complaint, his mind on other things.

What harm could there be in a magic show?

* * *

Hehe, wrong thing to say Harry.

Is it bad that I had two characters sent to a mental hospital? Yes? Oh well, they can play cards together or something...

I really wanted to keep the name Weaselys' Wizard Wheezes, but Wizard made no sense, so I had to omit it. I kept the rest of the name the same, as no other W word sounded good.

Yes, there will be no jealous bitch!Ginny in my fic. I don't mind her when she keeps her hands off of Harry, and I honestly think that they see each other as siblings.

Please review! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

_Chippy_


	3. A café and a magic show

After a long wait, here's chapter three! If you notice, it's longer than the other ones, so be grateful I didn't take longer.

I would like to address a few things. First of all, I made a slight edit to chapter two. I'm not saying what it was, just that it inferred with some of my plans for future chapters. Let's see who can find it!

Secondly, Minaal asked whether this story was set in the U.S. or not. That being a very good question (and I thank you for noticing so quickly), I figured that everyone should know the answer to it. Yes, this story is set in the U.S. Being born and raised in the U.S., I am not completely familiar with British currency and such, and I did not wish to offend anyone with information that I was not one hundred percent sure about. Please understand.

Thirdly, a name has finally been selected for Notepad Girl! Thank you to all who were kind enough to submit names, I appreciated every one of them.

Fourthly, and most importantly, I would like to remind readers of a few important things-

**Harry Potter?:** Not mine! J. K. Rowling's!

**Original Fic Idea?:** Again, not mine! This was a challenge by DarkCrimsonFlame3! It was her mind that came up with the idea!

**The Story Itself?:** MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE! Whatever the hell happens in this story is the product of my crazy imagination.

Fifthly, thank you for the reviews!

All points covered? Yes? Then on with the fic!

* * *

Harry sighed loudly as he and Ron stood in line to enter the theatre. Hermione had gone to get food, as they had been waiting for about three hours now, and she was taking an incredibly long time as all nearby places were filled with other people going to see the show. He winced as loud giggles erupted behind them. About five older women were sitting behind them, gossiping and giggling nonstop. It was especially bad as there was a picture of Tom Riddle on the wall by them and, though he was wearing a blindfold, which hid most of his face, they would stop every so often to stare at it, before giggling all over again. If this kept up, Harry knew he was going to go mad. 

"Here comes Hermione!" Ron said excitedly, pointing a little ways off. Harry looked and saw that the redhead was right. However, instead of holding bags filled with delicious food, her hands were empty, and her expression was annoyed.

"What happened Hermione?" Harry asked.

"I left my wallet at home!" Hermione snapped crossly.

"What!" Ron yelled. "But what about the tickets? And our food?!"

"Settle down Ronald, the tickets are right here." She held up said tickets for the redhead to see. "I talked to the cashier at the café, and she agreed to hold our food until I could get the money. One of you will have to pay instead."

"I'm broke," Ron said, looking hopefully over at Harry.

Harry reached for his wallet and checked it. "I don't have any cash on me, but I have my debit card. Do they accept it?"

"I believe so," Hermione said. "Let's go quickly; I don't know how long she will hold our food for us."

"Oh no," Ron said. "You're not leaving me here by myself." At that moment, a particularly loud bout of giggles went off behind them, causing him to wince.

"Oh all right," Hermione said. She handed Harry a slip of paper. "The girl at the register gave me this. It's our order number. Just show it to her and you'll be able to pay."

"Got it," Harry said, pocketing the piece of paper. "Now which café is it?"

"I can't remember the name, but it's the one we went to a few weeks ago."

"The one with the really good drinks that warm you from the inside out?" Harry asked.

"Yes! That's the one!" Hermione said.

"Okay, I know where it is then," Harry said. "I'll be back soon."

With that, he took off down the street, leaving his friends and the group of giggling women goodbye.

* * *

"Victoria!" Tom snapped. 

Victoria was instantly in front of him. "Yes sir?"

"Time?" he said, walking backstage.

"An hour and a half 'til show time sir," she said after a look at her watch.

He hummed thoughtfully. "I want you to go get me a drink from that café on 20th street."

"What would you like sir?" she said after grabbing her notepad.

"A butterbeer," he said after a moment's pause, having no real desire for a drink, but wanting to order someone around anyway.

"Yes sir," Victoria said while scribbling the demand down.

"Also, I want you to call the producers to let them know that I cannot make the appointment tomorrow. If they ask why, tell them I'm busy. Remember, you have to call them at exactly four o'clock. That's right before they leave for their weekly meeting. You won't be able to reach them anytime after that."

"Yes sir. Anything else sir?" she said while writing all the information down.

"No, now get moving," he snapped. Victoria nodded quickly, before walking out the nearby exit. Tom smirked.

Oh how he loved bossing people around.

* * *

"Thanks again for the directions Mr. Hagrid," Harry said to the man before him, craning his neck to look him the face. He was an extremely large man. 

"Think nothin' of it my boy," the man said jollily in his booming voice. "Goo'bye, and don't hesitate to come ba' soon! You know how much Buckbeak loves it when you visi'," he said, lovingly stroking the head of the cockatoo that was sitting on his shoulder.

"I won't," Harry said, before quickly exiting the pet shop he had gone to so he could ask for directions. It turned out he couldn't remember the way to the café after all.

"I hope our food is still good," Harry mumbled to himself. He walked a few blocks more before taking a right. He could see the café sign a block or so away, when a girl bumped into him.

"Sorry," she muttered hastily. Harry was about to say that it was no problem when the girl quickly took off without a backwards glance, her braid snapping behind her as she zoomed away.

Confused, Harry was about to continue on when he noticed something on the ground. He stooped to pick it up, and discovered it was a notepad. He flipped it open to the first page to see if he could find a name, but he could hardly make out what all the different numbers and words meant. Shrugging, he unconsciously pocketed the notepad and continued to the café.

He reached it just in time to see the girl from earlier ordering a drink, before she checked her watch and took out her cell phone. She reached for her back pocket, and Harry watched as her eyes widened in shock and fear at discovering nothing there. She hastily started searching all her pockets and, though she said nothing, her body language screamed panic. Remembering the notepad he had found after bumping into her, Harry walked towards her.

"Excuse me," he began, "but is this yours?" He held out the notepad and saw the annoyance in the girl's eyes at being addressed while she was searching change into shock and relief. She snatched it from his hand without a word, and flipped it open to a page before she began dialing on her cell phone. A bit put off by her rude behavior, Harry walked over to the register, showing the cashier the slip of paper Hermione had given him. The woman smiled and retrieved the order, and Harry quickly paid. He was just about to walk out, when the rude girl from earlier came up to him.

"I apologize for my behavior earlier," she said in a quiet voice. "Thank you so much for returning this to me. My boss would have been…most displeased if I did not make that call."

He smiled at her. "That's all right; I wouldn't want you to get in trouble with your boss." He held out his hand. "I'm Harry Potter."

She gave him a small smile and shook his hand. "My name is Victoria Grey."

Harry was about to say something when Victoria's cell phone started ringing. She answered quickly, and Harry saw her whole countenance change from quiet friendliness to strictly business. She spoke softly for a few moments, then with a final "Yes sir" she closed her phone with a snap, sighing.

"Well I guess I just bought myself a butterbeer then," she said mostly to herself. At Harry's puzzled look, she said, "My boss sent me out to get him a drink, and he just called saying he changed his mind and doesn't want anything after all."

Harry nodded in reply, before looking at his watch. His eyes widened and he cursed softly. "My friends are going to be so mad. I was supposed to be back ages ago."

Victoria smiled at him in understanding. "Well, you had better get going then. It was nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you too," he said, before turning around and walking out the door.

Victoria smirked to herself, grabbing her butterbeer when the waitress handed it to her. She had a feeling that this would not be the last time she would encounter Harry Potter.

* * *

"Wow…you must not have been kidding about these tickets costing a fortune. We must have some of the best seats in the house!" Harry exclaimed as he leaned over the railing. The Hogwarts Theatre was extremely large, designed like one of the old opera houses, including old architect and a chandelier. The audience seats spanned across the room on an upper and lower level, while there were about four box seats on both sides of the grand stage. Having never been inside the theatre before, you could imagine Harry's surprise when Hermione had dragged them up the stairs, turning down a corridor that had had an arrow pointing down it reading "Boxes Five Though Eight", before pulling them through a curtain where they emerged in a box seat with a large number five on it. 

"Yeah, we're lucky that Hermione's uncle was nice enough to give us these tickets," Ron said without thinking, grunting in pain when Hermione elbowed him in the side.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What?" he asked in a deceptively calm voice. "Hermione told me that you two paid for them."

"Uhh…" Ron trailed off.

"Good going Ronald," Hermione huffed, before turning to face her fuming friend. "Now Harry-"

"You tried to guilt trip me into coming by saying that you had spent a ton of money!"

"All right, I'll admit it. But I knew you were going to refuse, and in the end, that isn't even what convinced you to come," Hermione pointed out reasonably.

"Yeah, all of your pestering did," Harry muttered, anger deflating slightly, leaving him with a pout and an annoyed expression.

"Come on Harry, it's no big deal," Ron said patting him on the back. "Let's just enjoy the show."

Harry sighed, but he shot a small smile at the redhead. "Okay."

"Shh! It's starting!" Hermione whispered excitedly as the lights began to dim.

Ron rolled his eyes at her, but focused down on the stage anyway. After taking a moment to stifle his chuckle at his friend's action Harry did the same.

Within seconds the entire crowd was quiet, and the only light left was the bright spotlight. After a few unnervingly silent seconds, a figure dressed in a black tuxedo made his way on stage. Instantly, the audience began cheering wildly. Harry was sitting close enough to the stage to see the man smirk as he bowed before the crowd.

He had never seen Tom Riddle's face before. Any posters or pictures that he had seen showed the man wearing a blindfold which hid most of his facial features. However, he had heard from many of his female classmates that the man was handsome, gorgeous, stunning, hot, and many other flattering—though sometimes extreme—descriptions. Observing the man's face for the first time, Harry could grudgingly admit that they were right.

He couldn't make out the details, but he saw that Riddle had black hair quite similar to his own, though much neater. Harry couldn't help but feel slightly jealous; his own hair was messy and had a tendency to get in his eyes, no matter what ways he tried taming it. Besides that, however, there seemed to be no other similarities shared between them, at least physically. Tom Riddle was tall, maybe around six feet three inches, and his skin was extremely pale. Whether the paleness was caused by the bright stage lights or if he was naturally that way, Harry did not know.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Riddle said from the stage. "I thank you all for coming today. Not only is it my last show here in this town, but it is also the last show of my tour." Many audience members groaned and made other noises expressing their disappointment. "I know, I am also saddened by this. However, I can guarantee that tonight's show will be unlike any other show I've done before, in this country or another. If you have seen my show before, well, forget everything you remember from it! Tonight, you will all witness things that you never have before! These things may seem mysterious, even frightening at times, but remember one thing." He stopped there, taking his time to survey the entranced crowd before him.

"Everything…is magic!"

With a puff of smoke and a loud _bang_ that caused several people to shriek, Tom Riddle disappeared. Harry, whose heart was pounding after such a shock, could only watched transfixed as a dozen or so black robed figures emerged slowly from the lingering smoke. They were chanting softly, words that he could not comprehend, and they kept their heads bowed. Music was playing ominously, a funeral march to match the slow gait. As one, they stopped in the middle of the stage. They slowly raised their heads, revealing skull masks with glowing eyes, so realistic-looking that several people screamed at the sight of them. For several moments, no one moved. However, soon a smooth voice reached the audience from within the sea of black.

"With life, there is death," the voice of Tom Riddle stated. With a bloodcurdling scream, one of the skeletons on the far left gripped its throat, running to the side in pain. It made a sharp turn to the right, and it vanished, sucked up into its cloak, swallowed into nothingness as the black cloth drifted harmlessly to the floor.

"Yet within death…," the skeletons started to disintegrate, vanishing one by one with a whiff of smoke, until there was only one left standing in the middle of the stage. It reached up, pulling the skeleton mask off to reveal the face of Tom Riddle.

"…there is life," he finished.

Having said this, he undid the clasp on his black cloak, swiftly removing it and gripping it in his hand. He walked forward slightly and with careful movements began to lower it to the ground. Instead of collapsing and spreading out on the floor like any normal clothes would do, it slowly began to pile higher on the ground, holding itself upright, looking like a giant black nest on the ground. As Tom Riddle stood up, Harry saw him hold out his other hand, and he could see that he held some tiny object. What it was, he couldn't tell. Looking inside the nest for a brief moment, Harry watched in amazement as it slowly began to fill with something dark brown.

As Tom Riddle dropped the tiny something from his hand, Harry realized that he had been wrong. The nest was not a nest at all, it was a _pot_. The dark brown substance in it was dirt, and the tiny something…was a seed. What kind of seed, he had no idea. From his view in the box seat, Harry saw the seed sink into the soil soon after being dropped, somehow burying itself beneath the dirt. Tom Riddle bent down, before hefting the somewhat large pot into the air, holding it high above his head as if it were a sacrificial offering to the gods. His eyes were closed in concentration. With baited breath, the audience waited.

Ever so slowly, a tiny leaf poked its way out of the soil. Soon after, a little trunk sprouted as well, barely an inch thick. It continued this way, growing taller, growing wider, sprouting more and more leaves, until finally a small tree was left. The audience cheered.

Carefully, Tom Riddle balanced the pot on his left hand as he reached into his pocket with his right. He pulled out a small red handkerchief. He shook it out, and it gradually became larger, until it was about the size of a table cloth. He lowered it to the ground as much as he could without disrupting the potted tree, covering a section of the ground, before whipping it up, leaving a glass table. Shaking out the cloth again, it disappeared, and Riddle gently used both hands to lower the pot so it was sitting on the table. With a smirk, Riddle bowed before the cheering crowd.

Thinking the trick over, the audience gasped in surprise as small, white blossoms began to grow on the tree. They were even more surprised when oranges began growing on the tree as well. _So it was an orange seed!_ Harry thought to himself. The audience watched as Tom Riddle walked up and picked one of the oranges from the tree.

Like the tree, the oranges themselves were not extremely large, but they still looked to be a normal size. Producing a small pocket knife, Riddle cut the orange cleanly in half, allowing the audience to see the juicy innards of the fruit. After a few moments more, Riddle placed the two halves of orange together and ran his thumb along the line where he had cut it, before tossing the orange into the air and catching it. It was once again whole.

With a wave of his hand, Riddle produced an apple out of thin air and showed off both it and the orange to the confused crowd. He brought the apple to his lips and took a bite, chewing and swallowing, then held the apple up for the audience to see, the inside clearly visible. With a swipe of his hand, the apple was once again whole. A lazy smirk graced his lips as he slowly paced around the stage, tossing the apple and orange back and forth from one hand to the other.

"I'm going to let you in on a little fact I've learned over the years," Tom Riddle said. He continued to toss the apple and orange. "While something may appear one way on the outside, that does not necessarily mean it is the same on the inside." With a snap the knife was back in his hands and he swiftly cut the orange in half, revealing not the same juicy inside as before, but the pale colored flesh of an apple. Doing the same to the apple, the insides were again different, being that of an orange. The audience could only look in astonishment, until with a puff of smoke, the fruit disappeared.

As the crowd cheered, Tom Riddle once again took a bow. "Thank you," he said. "Now that the warm-up is over, how about some real magic?" The scream of the crowd was nearly deafening.

* * *

It was times like these that Tom Riddle was very grateful for his magic. Under normal conditions, nearly two straight hours under hot stage lights with no water and no shade would cause even the most experienced performer to pass out. Luckily for him, his magic blocked the heat from the powerful beams, and he knew not even a drop of sweat could be seen on his face. For his next trick, however, he knew one person would not be so lucky. 

"Our time together begins to wind down," he said. "But before we must depart, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve." He pulled a card, the Ace of Spades to be precise, out of said sleeve, and the audience laughed. With a flick, the card disappeared. "For my next trick, I will require some assistance; someone from the audience actually." As anticipated, nearly every member of the audience raised their hand, shouting out pleas to be his assistant. He held up a hand to silence them.

"I have my own method for selecting someone," he said. From his jacket pocket, he pulled out some black cloth. Raising it to his face, he covered his eyes, and the world was instantly cast into darkness. With a quick knot, the blindfold was set, and he turned towards where he sensed the audience.

"I ask you all to remain quiet while I go about selecting someone in assisting me," he said. With that, he took a deep, mind clearing breath and opened his eyes beneath the blindfold.

While his sight was temporarily eliminated, he could still "see" in different ways. As if he wasn't wearing a blindfold, he could still view the entire audience, yet it was not physically. In place of their physical bodies was a certain light. This light varied from person to person, in color and shade and brightness and even sheer intensity. Though Tom was not completely certain, he believed the light to be a person's soul.

That was what he was seeing now, a see of endless colors and lights. Some he saw, though he could not exactly pinpoint them at the moment, were dull and lifeless, while some seemed to lash out as they flickered, signaling a rather malicious attitude. He avoided these as he continued to rake his eyes through the different colors.

The process by which he selected a volunteer was simple. When selecting a volunteer, he tried to find the most appealing soul of the crowd. They were not always the same at every show. He had picked a cool mint green soul during one of his shows in Paris, and a fiercely flickering red during a show in Sydney. He had even picked a daisy yellow soul in Osaka once! Tonight, however, Tom could not find a color that struck his fancy. He tilted his head slightly to the side to see if he could make out a decent shade in the back of the audience, when a little flash caught the corner of his "eye". Intrigued, he turned to face the direction it had come from—one of the box seats, he realized—and promptly received a shock.

Never before in his life had he seen a soul like that!

Pristine and pure, the soul was a warm white. Not the cold white of snow or the disturbed white of the insane asylums, or even the fake white of too clean houses. It was white like a dove's wings, soft and compelling and innocent. He had only seen a similar color in that of a babe once, but even then the soul had not been nearly as _alive_. Like the flames of a fireplace, it flickered and danced, almost coy in its movements. It was like nothing he had ever seen before.

It was perfect.

With a smirk and a certain eagerness he had not felt in a long time, Tom Riddle walked to the edge of the stage.

* * *

"He's looking right at us!" Hermione whispered to Harry in excitement. 

It was true. After scanning the crowd for a few moments, Riddle had "looked" in their direction and his line of "sight" had not strayed since.

"Oh, I hope he picks me!" Hermione whispered, more to herself than to Harry.

Rom shot Hermione a withering look—not that she noticed—and looked grumpily down at Tom Riddle. Harry had really hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with a jealous Ron, but it looked like the fates had decided to be cruel to him. Before he could send Ron a reassuring look, Riddle started walking towards the edge of the stage.

"What's he doing?" Ron asked quietly, jealousy forgotten for the moment. Harry merely shrugged, not knowing the answer. When Riddle came to the edge of the stage he stopped, still looking in their direction. After a moment, he snapped his fingers, a tiny flame appearing on his thumb as though it were a lighter. With his other hand, he produced a piece of paper from his pocket.

With careful movements, Riddle lit the paper on fire, putting out the flame on his thumb after he was sure the paper was properly aflame. He allowed it to burn for a moment, a small cloud of smoking forming above the paper. Before the flame could reach his hand, he made the burning paper disappear, though the smoke cloud still remained. With one finger, he swirled the smoke around, causing the cloud to grow larger and larger. Once it was a fairly large size, Riddle trailed the smoke down to the edge of the stage with his finger, before stepping back.

Instead of following Riddle back, the smoke traveled in a straight line over the heads of a few audience members, before turning sharply upward. It then leveled out again, before repeating the upward movement. It looked as though someone was drawing in black ink in mid air, the smoke line forming a shape that looked exactly like…

"A staircase," Harry whispered in awe.

"But he couldn't possibly mean to-" Hermione started to say, but was cut off by screams from some of the audience.

Tom Riddle had just taken a step forward and was starting to steadily climb the smoke staircase.

* * *

Tom listened delightedly to the screams that followed his step off the stage. He could clearly see the stairs he had created, and he had no worry of falling. His direct attention was on that captivating soul sitting in the box seat ahead of him. He paid no mind to the two sitting near it (not only were they not appealing to him, they seemed positively bland in comparison to their companion). His "eyes" were only for the pure white one. 

After a few more moments of tense silence following his trip up the smoky staircase, Tom reached the box seat. He stepped off the smoke stairs and stood on the railing, keeping himself balanced easily. Almost hesitantly at first, the crowd began clapping, quickly increasing in volume as the sheer magnitude of what he had just done penetrated their shocked minds. Tom bowed, his sense of balance never waning, before turning to the person he had sought out.

"I believe that I have found my helper," Tom stated loud enough for the audience to hear. He did not require a microphone to make his voice heard throughout the room. "What might your name be?" he asked, having no clue what the gender of the person was. Light and color did not give away whether a person was male or female.

"Me?" a quiet, definitely male voice answered from the white light.

"I'm not talking about the Queen of Sheba," Tom said, keeping the normal bite out of his tone. He was in front of a large crowd after all.

He heard a slight huff. "Well I'm sorry, it's not everyday that a blindfolded man approaches me and asks my name," the voice snapped.

A few members of the audience tittered, and Tom heard a female voice next to the white soul whisper "Harry!" in shock of his behavior.

"So your name is Harry then," Tom said smugly. "Well Harry, if you would be so kind as to follow me, we can proceed with the next trick."

"What, go down that thing?!" Harry said. Tom could imagine Harry giving the staircase an incredulous look. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"I am most serious," Tom said. "If you like I can carry you down," Tom teased. Judging by the voice, Tom perceived Harry to be in his late teens, maybe eighteen or nineteen. He could make out a vague outline of a human shape in the white light, and while it was not particularly small, it was not big. He would have no trouble carrying the boy down the smoky stairs.

The audience laughed at his comment, and he could tell Harry was uneasy. "I didn't even agree to help," Tom heard Harry mutter to himself. "Isn't there any other way we could get down?" Harry asked eventually, a silent plea in his voice.

Not feeling like drawing out the ordeal (plus he was sure the audience was getting impatient), Tom snapped his fingers. Instantly, the smoke line that made up the staircase slowly began to form a square next to the railing which Tom Riddle still stood upon. Not even glancing behind himself, Tom took a step back onto the smoke platform and held a hand out for Harry.

"Come now. You do not have to worry about climbing down anymore. Just merely stand on here and we shall ride our way down."

For several seconds Harry did nothing, until finally he sighed and said "I suppose I have no way out of this." He then stood up and, ignoring Riddle's hand, swung himself over the railing and onto the small smoke platform next to Tom.

Though he did not let it show, Tom was mildly impressed by the bravery Harry showed by swinging himself over a railing into what would normally be certain death. However, he was annoyed that Harry had wanted a way out of assisting him. Insolent boy! Did he not know how many people would _kill_ to help him with a trick?

It did not matter. Tom would just have to teach the boy how grateful he should be.

That pleasant thought in mind, Tom snapped his fingers, and the platform began to lower towards the stage. He felt Harry wobble a bit, and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. It would not do to have his temporary assistant splatter on the audience. Once they reached the middle of the stage, the platform vanished, letting them drop the last few inches onto the stage. Harry stumbled slightly on the landing, but managed to keep himself from falling flat on his butt. Tom landed perfectly with a hint of a smirk at Harry's lack of coordination.

After bowing to the audience's cheers, Tom reached back to untie his blindfold. This accomplished, he tucked the material back into his pocket. He turned to Harry, meaning to explain what they were going to do, but promptly froze, mind cleared blank at the sight that greeted him.

He was lost in a sea of green.

* * *

So Tom and Harry have finally met! What ever will become of them? 

Congratulations Amaya130! It was your name that was selected! (throws confetti)

The Orange Tree trick is from the movie The Illusionist. I would have mentioned this at the beginning of the chapter, but I did not want to give away what was going to happen. Of course, I tweaked the trick a bit to match the circumstances, but the basic concept is the same. However, the apple/orange part of the trick was of my own creation. Do not steal. I highly recommend the movie, it is wonderful!

The smoke staircase was inspired by a scene in the movie Mary Poppins. I'm sure a majority of you have seen that movie.

All magic tricks belong to me, unless stated otherwise. If you would like to borrow one, please contact me first and get my permission.

Please review! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

_Chippy_


	4. The mind is a curious thing

I apologize for the long wait. I will not give excuses, but I promise to try to update more frequently. If it makes you feel any better, I have filled in a lot of holes I had in the story's plot, so hopefully updates will go much smoother. Thank you once again to all reviewers!

No point in making you wait longer. On with the fic!

* * *

It was only through sheer instinct as a performer that Tom managed to tear his eyes away from those of Harry's to concentrate on his surroundings. The audience was eagerly waiting the next trick, and Harry himself was gazing up at him in a mixture of impatience, curiosity, and slight embarrassment, those emerald green eyes of his glinting in the stage light. Knowing he could never perform up to his usual standards feeling so unbalanced, Tom subtly moved his hand out of view and waved his fingers. 

Everything was instantly still. The audience members were no longer shuffling in their seats, frozen completely in place. Glancing sideways, Tom was glad to see Harry was no longer moving as well. Concentrating, Tom took a step forward, feeling a strange pulling sensation all over his body. When he completed the step, he turned to find an exact replica of himself standing behind him, unmoving like all of the others. Satisfied, Tom stepped over to his assistant, taking his time in observing him.

Harry was in that stage between teenager and adult. His face had lost its baby fat, but had not yet gained the harder lines of maturity, giving him a boyish look. He was of average height, frame lean, but not skinny, and his shoulders had begun to fill out from what Tom could tell. Circling around Harry, Tom couldn't suppress a slight smirk. His shoulders were not the only things filling out, he noted as he eyed the boy's shapely rump. Chuckling quietly to himself, Tom circled back around to Harry's front.

His skin was a healthy tan, suggesting he spent a good deal of time outdoors, and his dark hair looked perpetually wind swept. He normally regarded such unkempt hair with distaste, but staring at the boy's overall profile Tom could admit to himself that nothing else would look natural on him. The messy bangs fell into the boy's eyes which were, Tom was certain, the most _vivid_ green he had ever seen in his life. If not for the spectacles perched on Harry's nose, Tom would have believed him to be wearing contacts.

Overall, Harry was somewhat plain in appearance (except for those eyes and fabulous arse, he reminded himself), but Tom would heartily welcome a tumble between the sheets any day.

_Perhaps I might convince Harry here to stick around after the performance_, Tom thought. _That way I could show him some real "magic"._ Tom hummed contentedly to himself at the thought, rubbing his hands together in an almost sinisterly way. Walking back to his frozen double, he shot Harry one last lusty glance before time unfroze.

_All right Harry, let's see what you've got._

* * *

There was one thing that hadn't realized when he had agreed to assist Riddle. Staring up into red eyes, trying to ignore the, perhaps, _thousands_ of other pairs that were currently fixated on the two of them, Harry cursed his reckless, dive-right-in behavior that always got him into trouble. 

He had horrible stage fright.

Gritting his teeth as the magician continued to stare, Harry was about to snap—most likely something rude—when Riddle looked away. When he looked back, Harry was startled at the new gleam in his red eyes that spoke of newly gained insight, but dismissed it as nothing, just the hot stage lights playing tricks on him.

Riddle walked a few paces over, then whipped out a white handkerchief which grew larger immediately. He snapped it down to the floor, then up again to reveal a wooden chair. "Have a seat," Riddle said to Harry as he gestured towards the chair.

Harry did so cautiously, settling himself as comfortably as he could on the hard seat. He saw the magician grin in satisfaction before whipping out the white sheet again, only this time an easel and paper appeared. Puzzled, Harry waited for the man to explain.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the magician began. "For my next trick I will be indulging my creative side."

_I think this whole thing has been pretty creative already_, Harry thought to himself. _I don't think I can take much more._

Riddle continued, unaware of his assistant's uneasy thoughts. "I will be asking my assistant here to think of specific things; what, I will not yet reveal. As the image presents itself in his mind, I will run my hand over the canvas until that same image is presented here." He tapped a finger on the sheet. "I will not use any painting supplies other than the paper and easel, and I will once again be blindfolded." He ended the statement by retying the fabric back in place, red eyes disappearing behind black cloth. Turning his body to face the easel, his head swiveled towards Harry. "Let's begin, shall we?"

"All right Harry, I want you to imagine an animal. One that stands out to you. It could be a pet, one you've seen at the zoo, or even one you saw on your way here to see my show. Whatever pops into your head. Try to imagine as many details as possible, as that will help while I paint."

This was a bit difficult, Harry decided after a few moments thinking. He had never been allowed his own pet when he lived with his horrible aunt and uncle, and while his godfather had been all for a family pet they had never been able to agree on one they both wanted. He had been allowed to the zoo once, but it had been very brief and he had hardly seen any animals. He hadn't even seen any animals on the drive here! Closing his eyes in frustration, Harry thought long and hard.

There was an owl, he realized suddenly. She used to perch in the tree by his window and he would stare at her in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep. She was a beautiful bird, with white feathers and black spots, and yellow eyes that would stare back at him in an almost maternal way. During the lonely days when his cousin Dudley made sure no one wanted to be Harry's friend, Hedwig (as he had taken to calling her) was his only companion. She had stayed until Harry was seven, when his uncle Vernon (who was sick of hearing her hoot all night) had had the tree cut down. He had missed her terribly, but eventually moved on.

So caught up in his thoughts of Hedwig, Harry barely heard the gasps of the audience. Saving the image of her in the back of his mind, he looked towards the magician. What he saw shocked him to his core.

There, plain as day, was a picture of Hedwig on the canvas. It was exactly as Harry imagined her; yellow eyes peering at him as she perched on a tree branch, wings spread wide as she meant to launch herself into the night to hunt. Her smooth, glossy wings fairly glowed in the moonlight and her beak was open to utter a last _"Hoot" _of farewell. The picture was so real, Harry half expected her to soar off the page and over the heads of the audience.

Harry turned wide eyes to Tom Riddle, who stood with a small, smug smile on his face.

"I take it that you recognize the owl, Harry?" he asked.

Harry nodded, and then realizing the magician couldn't see the movement, spoke a hesitant, "Yes."

He nearly leapt up in surprise as the audience started to applause. He had nearly forgotten they were there he was so caught up in his thoughts.

Riddle bowed before turning the paper over to a clean sheet. "What else shall I have you imagine, hmm?"

* * *

Tom was having a grand time. Like his soul, Harry's thoughts were warm and enticing. His imagination was a goldmine of colors and images and he nearly purred with the pleasure of immersing his mind in another so rich in mental sensations. 

Besides the owl, Tom had coaxed several other images out of Harry's mind. There was a man with greasy hair and a large, beak-like nose who seemed to have taken up sneering as a professional occupation. He sensed dislike radiating off of Harry in waves as he thought of this man. Another was of a blonde girl wearing radish earrings and a bottle cap necklace. There was a pencil tucked in her long hair and she was holding a magazine upside-down while her face had a dreamy, far-off look. He sensed that Harry had a certain fondness for her, but it was platonic in every sense. The last image was of a heavyset woman swelling up like a balloon while a bulldog hung from her ankle, having bitten onto the limb as the woman floated away. The last picture amused Tom (and the audience) to no end.

There was only time left for one more image before Tom had to move on, and while he would love to include Harry in the rest of the show, he knew that was not an option. He withheld a sigh, resolving to see Harry privately after the show. However, he could use this last image to rove a little deeper into Harry's mind, to see more than the surface thoughts he had been reading from Harry so far. He smirked.

"For this next picture we shall be doing things a little differently. I won't be asking you to imagine a specific thing; instead, I need you to follow my instructions very carefully Harry." He waited for Harry to nod before continuing. "First, close your eyes. Now now, don't be so suspicious!" he said as Harry gave him a skeptical look, before closing his eyes. "There, see? Next, take a deep breath. Finally, I want you to count up to three in your head over and over until I say so. Okay?"

"Just up to three?" Harry asked uncertainly, eyes still shut.

"Yes. Think of it like that thing they say as you're learning to dance. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three."

Satisfied that the boy was properly concentrating, he delved once more into Harry's mind. He gently prodded at the mental barriers keeping more personal thoughts hidden, and felt them eventually give way. He dived in, submersing himself in more of the warmth that Harry's mind seemed to radiate. He searched through different memories, giving them only quick glances when they proved to be uninteresting to him. A dark cupboard with cobwebs, a red-haired family surrounding a Christmas tree, a black-haired man with his arm around the shoulders of a slightly shorter man with grey-flecked brown hair, a laughing, grey-eyed boy running towards him, arms spread open…

He was about to choose one of the images when he sensed something strange. Intrigued, he delved closer to a sudden heat, warmer than the surrounding images. It seemed to come from Harry's subconscious, where most of his dreams were stored. Without a thought, he plunged right in.

There was fire. Flames shooting everywhere, eating away at furniture, walls, everything. And there were screams. Screams from above and below, pleads for help and God, _anything_ to stop the agony. The flames were coming towards him, to embrace him in embers and heat, to take him away…

With a gasp, Tom jerked his mind roughly out of Harry's. Eyes shit tight behind the blindfold, he tried to get his breathing under control. He was onstage. There was no fire, only the stage lights pounding into his back. There were no flames, none at all. No screams. _Nothing._

Forcing himself to calm, he realized he needed to paint something soon lest the crowd become suspicious. He picked a random image he had seen, the cupboard, willing it onto the paper under his hand. The crowd's sounds of wonder and confusion seemed to snap him back to normal, and he took off his blindfold to turn to Harry.

The boy was rubbing his head, wincing slightly. His rough exit must have caused him pain, Tom realized. He sent a healing vibe to dull the sensation, and watched the boy sigh in relief. Harry turned to look at him, and he gave the boy a small, charming smile.

"You recognize the image, Harry?" he asked.

He saw the boy frown in distaste at the picture. "Yes, I remember it all right."

"I take it that it brings back bad memories?" Tom asked again, cursing himself for choosing that particular one.

"Sort of, but it's all in the past now," Harry shrugged it off.

Relieved, Tom gestured at Harry while addressing the audience. "A round of applause for Harry and his assistance today!"

The crowd cheered loudly, and he saw Harry flush slightly under the attention. "Umm, how am I supposed to get back to my seat?" he asked quietly, walking over to stand by the magician.

Tom smirked, before grabbing his hand. Closing his eyes, they disappeared with a loud _Pop._

They reappeared on the railing in front of Harry's seat, Tom holding onto to Harry so he didn't fall. Tom brought his mouth towards the boy's ear and whispered, "Check your pockets," before helping him down. Green eyes looked at him curiously, and Tom couldn't help but wink as he disappeared again, only to reappear onstage.

Bowing as the audience cheered, Tom glanced briefly at Harry before concentrating on what was to come next. "Ladies and gentlemen…"

* * *

"That was amazing!" Ron yelled excitedly. "I can't believe he did all that! Remember when he just pointed at that bird and then BOOM! Stuff flying everywhere! And then-" 

"Enough Ron!" Hermione snapped, though there was a dazed look in her eyes. "Harry and I were there, we saw it all too."

"And Harry!" Ron continued, blatantly ignoring Hermione. "I can't believe you actually got to go onstage! I mean, he _read your mind!_ Do you know how cool that is?! How else could he have gotten those pictures? He got everything down to the grease dripping from Snape's hair!"

"I know Ron, I'm just as shocked as you are," Harry said. "It was so scary being up there, all the people looking at me."

"And then he just _poofs_ you back right in front of us!" Ron said, not listening to Harry.

"What did Tom Riddle say to you Harry?" Hermione asked curiously. "I heard him whisper something to you right before you sat down."

Being in such a state of shock after disappearing and reappearing (_How did he do that?_ Harry thought to himself), he had completely forgotten Riddle's words. Ignoring Hermione's curious look, he started to search his pockets. Reaching for the back pockets in his jeans, he felt something. Pulling whatever it was out, Harry discovered it be a piece of folded paper. Opening it, he found a plastic card.

"That's a backstage pass!" Hermione said, completely shocked.

"_What?_" Ron said, snatching the card up to examine it. "Holy hell! It really is! Why didn't you tell us you had a pass, Harry?!"

Bur Harry didn't hear Ron. He was focused on the paper. Written in neat calligraphy was a letter addressed to him.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope you enjoyed the show. You were a wonderful assistant and I thank you for your help. I still have the pictures, and I thought you might like to have them. I certainly have no use for any of them and you seemed to rather like the owl one (though personally I found the one with the woman and dog to be **most** amusing). _

_Enclosed is a backstage pass. If you follow the hallway to the right of the concessions table you should come to a door that says 'Authorized Personnel Only'. Go through there to get backstage and one of my assistants should be nearby to lead you to my dressing room. If anyone gives you trouble, just show them the pass and the stamp on the back of this note._

_Sincerely,_

_Tom Marvolo Riddle_

Turning the note over, Harry found an ornate 'V' with snakes as a border, stamped in green ink.

"Oh Harry!" Hermione, who had been reading over his shoulder, squealed. "You've been invited backstage by _Tom Riddle himself!_ That's amazing!"

"Hey," Ron said thoughtfully. "Do you think this thing could get us _all_ backstage? I mean, he just wants to give you some pictures. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if a couple friends tagged along, right?"

"I suppose," Harry said hesitantly. "It would sure make _me_ feel better if you guys came along."

"Then it's settled!" Ron said excitedly. "Do any of you have a pen? Or paper? I want to get his autograph!"

"Now wait a minute," said Hermione. "It doesn't say that Harry is allowed to bring anyone with him. We could get in big trouble."

"But it didn't say I _couldn't_ bring anyone with me," said Harry slyly. "Come on Hermione, I know you're just as anxious as Ron to meet Tom Riddle."

"Well…oh all right! But if we get in trouble, I'll never speak to you again!"

"That's what you said last time," said Ron, grinning.

"And the time before that," said Harry.

"And the time before-"

Before the boys could continue, Hermione grabbed them both by the arm and started to tug them towards the concessions table.

* * *

Sitting with his head in his hands, Tom tried to vanish the images from his mind. 

"That was a long time ago," he whispered to himself. "It's over and done with. That was just a dream. A dream from the mind of a boy with a very _detailed_ imagination. He wasn't _there_."

Sighing, Tom rubbed his hands over his face, before standing abruptly. He had a guest he needed to get ready for.

"Don't let some foolish dream spoil your evening," he muttered to himself. "You'll soon have a nice, supple body to distract you." He closed his eyes, imagining windswept black hair becoming messier under his hands and glazed green eyes, no longer hidden by glasses.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in."

Victoria entered. "You said you needed something, sir?"

"Yes. Go to the door that leads to the main theater, the one by the rigging system," Tom ordered. "Wait there until you see a boy with dark hair and glasses. Once you find him, bring him here. After that, leave us alone. Make sure no one disturbs us or there will be _hefty_ consequences. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. You're dismissed."

Victoria nodded, leaving the dressing room swiftly. As she closed the door, she caught one last glimpse of her boss. Walking down the hallway, her mind couldn't help but recall the predatory eyes and smile that promised sinfully wicked things.

She shivered.

* * *

A/N 

What's that?! Could it be some plot development?! Le Gasp!

Let's see, I believe the paint scene was inspired (once again) by the movie 'The Illusionist', but I (once again) changed it to suit my own needs. I won't be relying on movies to think of tricks the whole time, I swear! I have _some_ originality!

If you're wondering why Harry imagined Snape, Luna, and Aunt Marge, here is a summary of what Tom asked Harry:

**Who is the worst teacher you have ever had?**

**Who is the most unique person you know?**

**What have you always wanted to happen to a relative you greatly dislike?**

Please review! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

_Chippy_

* * *


	5. What is your desire?

"This is _so_ cool," Ron whispered for the hundredth time as they waited for Tom Riddle's assistant. They had emerged backstage to see workers running back and forth, cleaning up and closing down the theater for the night. Some gave them strange looks, but dismissed them in favor of completing their jobs so they could go home as quickly as possible. 

"I _still_ don't think this is a good idea…" Hermione muttered, but Harry could easily tell that she was fascinated with the workings of the theater. She mumbled little things to herself as she stared at the rigging system with all its ropes, weights, and locks.

"I just wish this assistant person would hurry up," Ron said.

"Maybe we should just ask someone where his dressing room is," Harry said.

No sooner had he said this, a familiar girl emerged out of the swarm of workers.

"Hey, I know her!" Harry said. "I met her when I went to get the food earlier. Her name's Victoria, I think."

"What's she doing here?" Hermione asked.

"I guess she works here," Ron replied.

"Well, ask her where Tom Riddle's dressing room is," said Hermione, impatiently.

Victoria caught sight of them, her eyes widening slightly as she saw Harry. She hurried over, nearly bumping into a man carrying a large stage prop. She apologized quickly, before stopping in front of Harry and his friends.

"Hello again," Harry said pleasantly. "Victoria, right?"

She gave a small smile. "And your name is Harry, if I recall correctly. Are you here to see Mr. Riddle?"

"Yeah," he said, surprised. "How'd you know?"

"I'm one of his assistants. He sent me to find you and bring you to him." She frowned slightly as she noticed the other two. "He didn't say anyone else was coming, though."

"Oh, these are my friends, Ron and Hermione. Is it all right if they come with me? I didn't want to just leave them waiting."

"I'm sorry, but unless they've been invited by Mr. Riddle, I cannot allow it," she said professionally.

"Come on," said Ron, imploringly. "I'm sure your boss wouldn't mind."

"Oh, I have a feeling he _would_ mind," said Victoria stiffly, almost to herself.

"I _told_ you we shouldn't have come," Hermione muttered to Harry. "I'm terribly sorry," she said to Victoria. "We'll leave right now. I hope we haven't gotten you into any trouble."

"It's fine," Victoria said, smiling slightly. "As long as it doesn't happen again."

"Come on Ronald," Hermione said, tugging Ron in the direction of the door. "We'll meet you by the exit Harry! And it was nice meeting you Victoria!" she called back. Harry heard Ron grumbling something and the beginnings of a lecture from Hermione before the door shut behind them.

"Well now, right this way," Victoria gestured to the swarm of workers, which was much less crowded than it was before. "It's best not to keep Mr. Riddle waiting."

They started walking, dodging people as they went. Once they were through the main area and into the long, twisting hallways there were no longer as many people and the two could converse much more easily.

"So, what's your boss like?" Harry asked curiously. "I mean, how does he treat the people who work for him?"

"Mr. Riddle is very…demanding of his employees," Victoria said neutrally. "He values high levels of productivity. He won't accept excuses and failures, and he is very upfront about displeasures."

"He sounds a bit uptight," said Harry, not at all impressed thus far.

"Mr. Riddle is a very proud man," Victoria said, turning to look at him more fully. "He is confident in his actions and will not make excuses for them. He is direct, but very subtle when he wants to be. He's also extremely harsh at times, but that is just his character. He _is_ a bit vain, but who wouldn't be if they looked like he does? But you must understand Harry, he's not an air headed celebrity with some good looks that got him where he is today. He's _cunning_. He _knows_ what he wants, and he _gets_ it. _Never_ underestimate him, Harry. You'll find yourself in a lot of trouble if you do."

"You make him sound like some kind of…_conqueror_ I should be wary of," Harry said, almost frightened by the way which Victoria spoke.

"Quite honestly," Victoria said, looking him dead in the eye. "You _should_ be wary of him."

"Don't get me wrong," Victoria said, seeing something like fear in Harry's eye. "He's not a horrible person. I've had jobs like this with other performers and they were _much _worse. They treated me like a servant no matter what I did. Here, if you work hard and prove yourself, Mr. Riddle rewards you for it. Look at me; I've busted my back and done everything he's said without complaint and I've gotten a pay raise and a little more respect than some of his other assistants. I might even get a promotion if I work hard enough!"

"I'm still not that anxious to be meeting him now," Harry said, slowing his pace just a little.

"He invited you backstage though," Victoria said, wondering how to convince Harry to go through with the meeting. She would be in big trouble otherwise. "He didn't _have_ to, but he decided to anyway. It's not like it's a publicity thing trying to make himself look better. He refuses to let any cameras in here."

"I suppose," Harry said. "He said he wanted to give me some pictures." But the more Harry thought about it, the more doubtful he became. Why would Tom Riddle go through all this to give him a few _pictures?_ It's not like Harry was that enthusiastic when he was called up. And by the sounds of it, the magician only did stuff that benefited _him_.

What did Harry have that could possibly benefit Riddle?

Before he could question himself further, they arrived in front of a door with a gold plate pronouncing 'Tom Riddle'.

"I'll be waiting over there whenever you're finished," Victoria said, pointing down the hall slightly.

"Thanks," said Harry quietly, still very unsure about the whole thing.

Using the same dive-right-in attitude he had on stage, Harry gave a quick knock on the door. When a silky voice answered, "_Come in_," Harry turned the knob and stepped inside.

Watching as the door closed behind Harry, Victoria couldn't help the sad little smile on her face. Sighing, she headed off to do some paperwork, knowing she would either be waiting a very long time or would be needed to inform Harry's friends that he wouldn't be returning with them that night.

* * *

Stepping into the dressing room, Harry found that no one was there. "Hello?" he called. 

"I'll be with you in a moment," said the voice of Tom Riddle from behind a door next to the mirror. "Make yourself comfortable."

Hesitantly, Harry sat down in an armchair. His hands fidgeted nervously in his lap, before he forced them to his sides. A few moments later the door opened, and out stepped Riddle, clad in black trousers and a dark blue shirt that he was still in the process of buttoning up.

"Sorry about that," he said. "My stage clothes get a trifle hot after a while." He was then apparently finished buttoning his shirt, leaving the top three undone to expose the beginning of his chest. Swiping two wine glasses off the counter, he pulled out an already open bottle and set the items on the coffee table, before seating himself on the couch.

Pouring himself a glass, Riddle gestured to Harry. "Something to drink?" he asked.

"No thanks," Harry declined.

Riddle shrugged, sipping at his own glass with a smile. "It's right here if you change your mind."

A tense silence filled the room soon after. Harry had no idea what to say, and Riddle was content in observing his nervous guest as he drank his wine.

"You said you had some pictures for me?" Harry finally blurted out.

"Yes. I apologize, let me get them for you," the magician said, standing up. He circled behind the chair Harry sat in, and Harry had no idea what the magician was doing, being too afraid to turn his head to watch lest he be caught doing so. For a moment, Harry felt something against his ear, like a warm breath exhaling on the appendage. He jerked forward in surprise, but Riddle was already walking to his seat.

"Here you are," the magician said, giving Harry the pictures. "I was honestly surprised by the quality. Normally I can get a basic outline, but yours were incredibly detailed."

"How did you do all this?" Harry said, staring at the picture of Snape. Ron was right; you _could_ see the grease dripping from the man's hair.

"How do you think?" Riddle asked back, a smirk on his lips.

"I don't really know," Harry mumbled.

"I see. You doubt that my abilities are real." It wasn't a question.

"Well, plainly speaking, I've never heard of a real magic wielder before. At least, not in real life."

"Hmmm…" Riddle trailed off pensively. After a few more moments of incredibly awkward silence (for Harry, at least), Riddle said, "I guess I'll just have to convince you otherwise."

Then, quite suddenly, the room was plunged into darkness.

Heart beating wildly, Harry stared ahead into nothingness. He was frozen in his seat, unable to move a muscle except for his eyes, which roved the solid wall of black in front of him in panic. Suddenly, there was a whisper of breath, and a single source of light emerged.

There was a small flame, cupped in the hand of Tom Riddle. The little amount of light it produced was enough to partially illuminate his face, putting emphasis on high cheekbones and smoldering crimson eyes. Without removing said eyes from Harry's, Riddle angled the hand and flame towards the green-eyed boy and blew softly, as though he were blowing him a kiss.

The flame, instead of going out, floated up towards the ceiling, coming to stop somewhere behind Harry. It hung suspended in midair, casting its light about the room. Riddle then brought his hand up to his mouth, fingers barely touching his lips. The magician exhaled on them and seemed to pull more fire out of his own body, which he then blew to rest a little ways from where the other was situated. The whole process was repeated until about seven spheres of flame were suspended in the air, forming a ring above the two dark-haired males. Not once did Riddle look away from Harry.

There were a few moments of silence before Riddle pushed himself off the couch. As though he were no longer in control of his body, Harry felt himself stand as well. He watched the man take a few steps in his direction, and noted with a sort of detached wonderment that the couch, table, and other items were gone, leaving a somewhat large empty space.

The magician stopped when he was a few feet away from the other, red eyes shrouded and focused on green. Riddle was only three or four inches taller than him, but Harry couldn't help but feel incredibly small and unimpressive when faced with the other man. Riddle's hand rose, and for a minute he thought the man was going to reach out and caress his face. Instead, he swept his arm out to the side and clenched his fist.

The ring of flames slowly began to lower, shrinking a little, but still wide enough to trap the two of them in the center. It stopped about mid-chest, surrounding them in an orangish glow. For a moment nothing happened, then Riddle raised his other arm and clenched his fist. The spheres began to move, rotating to the right. They gradually began to spin faster and faster, until they formed a solid ring of flame. Harry watched in awe, squinting slightly from the bright light of the fire. He could feel his pulse racing, but surprisingly he wasn't afraid.

Riddle had his eyes closed now, an intense look of concentration on his face. He slowly pushed his arms down, and the ring of fire slowly split into two. The new ring began to slow, before accelerating in the opposite direction. With a soft grunt, Riddle brought his right fist up again, before spreading his fingers wide. The two rings began to tilt slightly, until they crossed each other.

Sweating slightly from the heat, Harry tore his eyes away from the flames to focus on Riddle. A drop of sweat was trailing down from the magician's brow, and his eyes were still clenched shut. As though feeling other eyes on him, Riddle's eyes abruptly snapped open, focusing on green orbs with a startling intensity. They stared for what seemed like eternity, until Riddle focused back on the fire. Harry was confused for a second, until the heat seemed to move closer.

Turning back, Harry saw that the two crossed rings were starting to shrink. As they came closer, Harry began to step backwards. His back ran into a solid pillar of warmth, and he knew that there was no where else to go. The rings continued to shrink, until they finally stopped, Harry pressed close to the magician to avoid being burned.

The temperature was nearly unbearable now, and combined with the heat of Riddle's body (How had he never noticed how _warm_ the magician was?), Harry was beginning to feel lightheaded. He could only continue to watch the fire so close to him in a sort of dazed amazement. When he swore he was going to pass out, he was startled by a quiet hissing coming from behind him, from Riddle he realized belatedly. Even more surprising, the flame seemed to hiss_ back_.

The two rings melded back together again, continuing to spin. The ring began to slow slightly, when a section broke off, twining away from the two males. Its shape became more refined, until finally it formed a large snake. It hissed again, turning to face them while floating in midair. Another line of hissing came from Riddle, and the snake came towards them, its fiery tongue flicking out. Harry became entranced in the snake's eyes—a color very similar to Riddle's, he noted—and did not notice as his hand came up to touch the serpent. He did, however, notice when a long fingered hand covered his own, guiding the appendage to the top of the snake's head.

The snake was solid to touch and extremely warm, not burning as he had thought it would be. He easily ignored Riddle's hand, so caught up in the delight of petting the creature and he smiled as the snake leaned into his touch. A pleased hiss was another response, and Harry laughed quietly. The snake slithered closer, nudging Harry's cheek, before sliding on top of his shoulder. The magician seemed to communicate with it for a few moments; then it was sliding forward, long body coiling itself down Riddle's back and across Harry's stomach.

Harry could no longer ignore the way the two of them were pressed together, forced even tighter due to the snake that was currently wrapping itself around them a second time. He wriggled uncomfortably, awkwardly, and didn't notice the way red eyes darkened. He stiffened when a hand settled on his side, rubbing up and down slowly. It was then that he remembered his own hand, still held in Riddle's, and that a thumb was running over his palm in a gentle caress.

"What are you-" he attempted to say, when a warm breath blew over the side of his neck, causing his mouth to shut from shock. He attempted to move away, but the snake withheld his movements, incredibly warm body now wrapped around Harry several times. Smooth lips kissed at his neck, causing Harry to gasp softly and struggle more strongly. He didn't like this. The last time he had been this intimate with anyone was when-

In a flash, Harry found himself turned around, his front pressed to Riddle's own. How this had happened, he had no idea, for they were still tightly bound. Turning angry green eyes upon the magician, he faltered. Riddle's eyes…they were glowing slightly. And the red was swirling together, like lava…

He was not aware of leaning forward to better see those fascinating eyes, nor did he notice Riddle's triumphant grin. He was unaware of an arm curling around his waist, or a hand fisting gently in the hair at the nape of his neck, tilting his head _just so_. Only when his face was caressed by a warm breath did Harry blink owlishly, but by then lips were covering his own and he could do no more than whine in the back of his throat.

He attempted to jerk his head away, but the magician grasped his chin, forcing his head to remain where it was as lips caressed his own. Shock starting to fade, Harry moved his hands to push Riddle away, but all his efforts were for naught as Riddle refused to budge. Desperately Harry tried to escape, wriggling against the hold of both the magician and the fiery serpent.

Somewhere deep in his mind, Harry heard a voice whisper to him. '_Give in_,' it said.'_The kiss is not so horrible, is it? Just feel._'

Mind dazed and confused, Harry blindly followed the voice's instructions, allowing the kiss without fighting back. It wasn't _so_ bad, he realized. In fact, it was a very _nice_ kiss.

'_Yes,_' the voice hissed. '_Doesn't that feel good? What's wrong with a harmless little kiss? What's so wrong with allowing yourself to feel __**pleasure**?_'

Riddle's tongue was running over his lips now, not forcing, but beckoning Harry to open his mouth for him, to allow him entrance. Thoughts and feelings still jumbled, Harry opened his mouth the tiniest bit.

He could feel Riddle's grin on his lips, and then a warm tongue was stroking the inside of his mouth, and fire seemed to spread though his body in waves. Harry moaned softly, finally allowing himself to kiss back. Riddle hummed and increased the pressure, slanting his mouth across Harry's more firmly and moving his hand from Harry's chin to the small of his back, anchoring Harry to him as the snake dissolved into thin air.

'_Good, good_,' the voice whispered sweetly. '_But wouldn't it feel even better to feel __**flesh**__? To feel the heat seep into your body, to feel hands run along your bare skin?_'

Riddle's hand moved to the bottom of his shirt, going under the fabric to run along the naked skin of his back, causing Harry to moan at the heat it radiated. Riddle's lips trailed down to his neck, pushing aside the top of his shirt and kissing at his collarbone before sucking gently. He ran his tongue over the reddened mark, licking eagerly as though he was memorizing the taste of Harry's flesh. Harry could only grip Riddle's shoulders, panting as he tried to regain his breath.

'_Yes, it feels wonderful, doesn't it? Wouldn't it feel good if that mouth kissed down your chest, your stomach? Or maybe if it suckled at the back of your knees and gradually trailed up your inner thighs…_' the voice purred suggestively.

Dizzy, with pleasure singing through his veins, Harry couldn't help as his legs gave out and he was forced to depend on the magician to keep him upright. With a grunt muffled into Harry's neck, Riddle bent down and hooked his arms under the boy's knees, hefting Harry up as easily as he would a small child. Harry yelped in surprise, quickly wrapping his arms around Riddle's neck to keep his balance.

When Riddle's mouth pressed to his again, it was with a ferocity that the magician had never shown before. Making an uncertain noise in the back of his throat, Harry gasped in surprise as he was abruptly dropped. He landed with a bounce on the leather couch (_Where did __**that**__ come from?_ he wondered in confusion) and then Riddle was upon him, lips and hands caressing every inch of him.

It was suffocating.

Harry was pressed back against the sofa, Riddle sitting between his legs. A hand was on his thigh, slowly sliding up towards his ass. When it got there, Riddle gave a squeeze. Harry jerked in shock, uncomfortable. He tried to remove the hand, but Riddle persisted. For the first time since the voice had entered his mind, Harry became uncertain.

'_You want this_,' the voice said, and for the first time Harry noticed it sounded distinctly like Riddle. '_Don't you feel how your body soars under such ministrations?_'

'Actually,' interrupted an entirely new voice, 'didn't you say that this was supposed to be "just a harmless little kiss"? It seems a bit more than that to me.'

The new voice made sense, and slowly Harry's mind became a little less fuzzy. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on the argument taking place in his head.

'_Give in_,' Riddle's voice hissed.

'No thanks,' said the new voice, which Harry realized sounded much like his own. 'Seems like a rather stupid thing to do.'

'_Give __**in**_,' Riddle hissed sternly.

'No, I don't think I will.'

'_**Give in!**_'

'**NO!**' yelled the voice forcibly. And with that, Riddle's voice was gone and the fog that had clogged Harry's thoughts lifted, allowing him to think clearly once more. Snapping his eyes open, Harry took in the magician kissing him—from how he was starting to unbutton his shirt to the hardness pressing against his thigh—and did the first thing he could think of.

He tore his mouth away from Riddle's and punched him _hard_ in the face.

Whether it was surprise at the action or from the force of the hit, Riddle went flying backwards to the other side of the couch, landing with a loud _thump._ In an instant, Harry was on his feet a good ways away from the magician, wiping his mouth off with the back of his sleeve. Body shaking with the force of his ire, he glared viciously.

"How _dare_ you," Harry hissed. "I don't know what you did or how you did it, but stay _out_ of my head!"

Riddle was apparently too dazed from the hit to understand, for he only stared at Harry with shocked eyes, tenderly holding his reddened cheek. His mouth was slightly slack.

Harry sneered at him, feeling a huge sense of satisfaction at seeing the magician so disheveled. "I'm not one of your little fans. I won't just spread my legs since you're the _famous_ Tom Riddle, magician _extraordinaire_. But tell me one thing _Tom_. Was this a last minute decision, or did you plan it since you picked me during the show?"

Again Riddle remained silent, and Harry felt his rage bubble.

"Stay the _fuck_ away from me Riddle," he said. "And maybe I won't sue you."

With that, Harry turned on his heels and walked towards the door. He barely acknowledged that all the furniture was back including the wine and glasses; he was so caught up in his anger. As he was opening the door, however, Harry turned back to the unmoving magician.

"Oh yeah, and you can _keep_ your damn pictures."

The door slammed shut behind him.

* * *

Stretching, Victoria decided she needed a cup of coffee before she could take on the remaining paperwork. Standing, she opened the door just in time to see Harry storming down the hallway. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was even messier than normal, and there was a hickey on the skin where the top of his shirt was unbuttoned. His face was also contorted with rage. 

"Harry?" she questioned. The boy ignored her, stomping down the hallway and out of sight.

There was an apprehensive pause where Victoria turned to look at her boss's dressing room a little ways down the hall, wondering briefly if she could manage to sneak away. At the sound of shattering glass and a roar of fury, she let go of the foolish notion and contemplated how long she would be unemployed before finding a new job.

* * *

_That little bastard,_ Tom thought. _How dare he refuse me! I bring him pleasure and how does he repay me? Punching me in the __**face**!_

Even hours after the incident, Tom was still incredibly angry. He had fired a total of ten people in thirty minutes, a new record, and caused more than one person to break out into tears. It didn't help that his body was still stirring from unfulfilled arousal, which, like his unpleasant mood, was also caused by Harry.

Tom had planned on retiring to his hotel suite for the evening, but he found himself far too restless. Instead of going to his rooms, he went to the hotel's bar for a stiff drink. Upon his arrival, he found it was not too crowded and so settled himself and snapped his order to the awaiting bartender.

While waiting, Tom amused himself by observing the other patrons. There was an older, red-faced man who was chatting up a younger woman, who appeared quite uncomfortable with the attention. A little ways away there was a couple who seemed to be in an argument, if the tears gathering in the woman's eyes were any indication. She stormed off a moment later, openly crying, and her boyfriend hesitated before going after her. Tom turned away from both displays, disgusted, and needing his drink more than ever.

The rest of the people were talking amiably in there own little groups, enjoying themselves. Tom had just taken a sip of his newly arrived beverage when he spotted a pair of women he hadn't noticed before. They were conversing in hushed voices, one girl giggling every so often. Both were rather pretty, one with short auburn hair and a thin body, the other with long dark brown hair whose body was much curvier than her companion's. They kept shooting appreciative looks in his direction. _Interesting_, he thought to himself.

Allowing a small, sexy smirk to appear on his face, he slowly drank down the rest of his drink before standing. He made his way over to them, and watched the excitement spread across their faces. He stopped, allowed them a few moments to run their eyes over his body, before speaking. "Hello. Sorry for the intrusion, but I couldn't help but notice that you ladies looked lonely. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Of course we don't," the girl with auburn hair blurted out, giggling.

Her companion shot her an irritated look, before turning to him, dark red lips forming a seductive smile. "We would be honored," she purred. "My name is Eliza, and this is Amber. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr.…?"

"You're Tom Riddle, right?" Amber interrupted. "I can tell, because your eyes are red and everything and you look just like him! I saw your commercial on TV forever ago!"

"_Amber_," Eliza hissed.

Tom kept up his polite smile. "I'm afraid you are mistaken, though you are certainly not the first. It's probably just the lighting; my eyes are actually brown." He willed his eyes to change color. "My name is Reuben Grant."

"Oh," Amber said disappointedly. They kept up idle chitchat when Amber suddenly excused herself to the restroom, leaving Eliza and "Reuben" to continue their conversation.

"I'm sorry about Amber," Eliza said after her friend was out of earshot, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "She never could hold her drinks…or her tongue."

"It's no problem," he said.

"So _Reuben_," Eliza purred, leaning forward so her cleavage was better displayed, "what brought you to our quaint little table?"

"As I told you before, you appeared to be lonely and, quite frankly, I was a bit lonely myself," he said. "It's so hard to find decent company these days."

"I know what you mean," she said, and Tom saw her eyes shift in the direction Amber had left before returning to him.

"Perhaps," Eliza began slowly, "since we both seem to be lonely, we could keep each other company…tonight?" Her dark eyes gleamed with lust.

Tom smirked. "I would like that very much."

* * *

They had left soon afterwards, before Amber had returned. When inquired about her companion, Eliza merely replied, "She's a big girl now, she'll get along fine on her own." Tom didn't question her. 

They arrived at Tom's suite and, after a quick scan with his magic to make sure Eliza was disease free, it was not long before pretenses were dropped and the two ended up in bed.

However, something unusual happened.

Tom's hands were parting Eliza's thighs, his eyes on her face as she panted. Her eyes were closed in pleasure, and she was fisting the sheets by her head. He had just settled between her legs when her eyes snapped open, locking on his.

They were green.

The sudden surge of pleasure that had shot through his body had been incredible, leaving him breathless and shaking. He had wasted no time in entering her with a sound thrust, and the rest of the night had been lost to primal pleasure.

He had never looked away from her eyes.

* * *

It was very early the next morning that Tom lay awake in bed. He had teleported Eliza home after erasing her memories of him, making sure to locate her companion's mind and doing the same. Eliza had served her purpose, and he had no further use for her. 

Besides, the night before had unsettled him.

"How the _hell_ could her eyes have changed to _green?_" he asked out loud.

The only explanation he could come up with was that his magic had something to do with it. However, that was even more unsettling, for it had either acted on its own or on some subconscious will—_desire_—of his.

Green eyes flashed again in his mind, and suddenly it clicked.

"_Harry_," he hissed.

Instead of becoming infuriated as he had the day before, Tom calmed himself enough to think rationally about his failed seduction of the boy. Harry had been difficult to coax at first, but Tom had never been above using a tiny bit of hypnotism to relax his more reluctant lovers (not that he had had many, speaking truthfully). Generally the desire was always there, just the reluctance to act upon it stopped them. Once that was out of the way, they were his.

Harry, however, had been harder to influence than any other person he had ever pursued. He never used more than a tiny fraction of his hypnotism on any person, and with Harry he had had to use nearly four times as much just to keep the boy pliant.

And then Harry, somehow, had broken free completely.

_It seems_, Tom thought to himself, _that mind control won't work on him, unless I want to use more power and have a mindless dummy on my hands._

That thought did not please Tom in the slightest.

Back to his earlier dilemma, though. If his magic's indication was anything to go by, it would seem he still desired sex with Harry. A picture formed in his mind of what would have happened if Harry _had_ given in to Tom's ministrations. In it, Harry was under him, crying out in pleasure, legs wrapped firmly around Tom's waist as he was thrust into over and over. Green eyes were lust drunk as they gazed at him, sweat slicking his skin and black bangs falling into his eyes as his body jerked. His panting breath mingled with Tom's as they sought each other's mouths, teeth clacking slightly in the ferocity of their need.

Tom shivered with the force of his want. His previously sated body was stirring again, demanding someone—_Harry_—for its pleasure. It was as if he hadn't spent the entire night fucking someone, his need was so strong.

And it was decided then and there.

Harry would be _his_.

_If mind control doesn't work, I guess some old-fashioned wooing is in order_, Tom thought to himself. _Sooner or later, he __**will**__ give in._

And with those thoughts in mind, Tom rose out of bed.

He had a lot of planning to do.

* * *

A/N 

Thanks for the reviews! Sorry for the chapter being a little late. At least it's longer!

With the whole "Harry hears voices in his head" thing, I was trying to make it sound sort of like the _Imperius_ curse from the HP series. From what I recall from book four, when "Moody" tests the curse on Harry he was going to blindly obey before his mind started rebelling in the form of a voice in his head arguing with Moody's voice. I think Hypnotism would basically work the same way.

However, you have to realize that Tom is _very_ powerful. He could have complete control over Harry if he wanted, but, like he said, that would make Harry a mindless dummy. Normally Tom just has to use a little power, as all that will do is nudge people into **willingly** giving him his way. Harry, however, cannot be nudged so easily, so Tom has to use more power. The more power Tom uses in hypnotism, the less freewill that person has. Tom doesn't want someone _forced_ to be attracted to him; he wants them to be _actually_ attracted to him.

I hope that makes sense.

Please review! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

_Chippy_


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